The Legacy of Albus Severus Potter
by AllenGaynor
Summary: Albus Severus Potter was born on July 5th, 2006. Although his family has not been in jeopardy for twenty-six years, something dark still lurks at Hogwarts. As well, Nicolas Flamel remains more than a forgotten memory....
1. Of Nicholas Flamel

Albus woke, feeling groggy as ever. He retrieved the wand at his bedside, feeling accustomed to the more than miraculous bit of wood that had served him well the past seven years. As he sat up, he placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose and breathed in the fresh air that filled the dormitory through the open window. _Maybe Peeves will still be looking to cause some trouble with me,_ he thought. He climbed out of his four-poster and into the clothes he had been given by his parents to wear on the day of his graduation. Over these he placed his school robes, feeling the pride with which he had been selected for Gryffindor by the Sorting Hat.

"Hey, Al!" said Samuel, also a Seventh-Year. "You feeling right about getting out of school?"

"Yeah," replied Al. "Couldn't be more proud, never mind anxious, mate."

"Look, me brother's going to come, see us off from Hogsmeade, inne? Why don't you come along and say hello?"

"I don't know why not," said Al. He opened the door and trotted down the dormitory staircase, stretching his limbs. "But that's still a few days away, yeah?" Al laughed, knowing that they had only begun their term the previous day. "So why don't we put that off a while? Anyway, I was just going to go down to breakfast, maybe see who's on the seventh floor. Meet you there?"

"Yeah," said Samuel, pulling his robes on over his pajamas. "See you later. Maybe have some fun in Potions, say hello to Malfoy."

Al smiled with the knowledge that his father had so disliked Malfoy's father when he was in school.

Walking along the third-floor corridor, Al spotted Peeves loosening the chandelier so that it would fall on an unsuspecting passerby, on of the poltergeist's favorite pastimes. He freed his wand from his pocket and, being quite adept at Nonverbal magic, aimed a spell. _Congelo Phantasmis!_

Peeves froze in midair and hung there, eyes lolling about in their sockets. "You having a laugh, eh, Peevesie?" said Al, moving out from behind the doorframe. "Think it'd be funny to see a Firstie get stuck in a chandelier?"

He flicked his wand, and Peeves slowly seemed to regain the mobility in his mouth. "Oh, no, Potty!" replied Peeves, mock-offended, reciting the nickname he had given Al's father. "No, no, nononono! I couldn't do that! I was going to drop it on the Malfoy boy this morning!" The poltergeist nodded erratically, showing a seemingly-genuine concern.

"Good, then," said Al. "But if I hear about another son of George Weasley's falling victim to one of your pranks, I'll have the Baron after you, this time!" Peeves floated back a few inches, showing distaste at the form of punishment Albus had threatened him with. "Good. I'll see you later, Peeves."

Al shook his head, smirking, as Peeves loudly blew a raspberry at him in the stretch of corridor he had just vacated. As he came upon the suspension bridge, Al watched as the sun rose higher in the sky, revealing the owls just in from their nightly hunt, the Hippogriff, Witherwings, who by this time had grown quite old, and a small herd of thestrals that had occupied Hogwarts grounds for many years. He smiled, taking in the air, smelling the alpine trees in the distance.

He noticed shortly thereafter that he had been joined by his sister, Lily. "Hey, Al," she said, grasping the vertical supports holding the bridge up and looking out, as if dreaming to fly amongst the owls. "Ready to get started on your final year here?"

"You know," said Al, "in a funny way, I am, and at the same time I'm not. I'd like to get started, but I don't want to leave this place. I've got friends here, and memories, but maybe someday I'll be back, after all this."

Lily nodded, her red hair catching the sunlight and turning it almost a copper color. "Yes. I've still got a way to go at Hogwarts, but I'll spend every moment I can, almost taking a photograph."

"That reminds me," said Al, taking a _Prophet_ from his pocket. "Did you see the latest photo of James? Taking a leaf from Uncle George's book, you ask me, the old gaffer!"

"Yeah. I imagined he would. Those spectacles don't work, but he advertises them like they're a miracle with wire frames."

"That's why I've got glasses, thank you very much, Uncle George."

Lily walked off, and Al found that he was far hungrier than he had realized. Making his way to the Great Hall, he passed the chandelier that Peeves had loosened. As he neared the end of the corridor, he heard a crash and made his way back to that spot, where the chandelier had taken a very unfortunate, struggling Scorpius Malfoy hostage. "Peeves!" shouted the enraged Prefect. "Peeves, you bugger! I'll get the Baron on you for that!"

"Hey, Scorpius!" said Al, who to this day did not understand the old rivalries between Slytherin and Gryffindor, flicked his wand and freed the Malfoy boy of his bonds. "Peeves, erm...get you, did he?"

"I'll have that poltergeist banished from the grounds before I'm shot of this place!" muttered Scorpius. Noting that he was standing before Al, he nodded. "Oh. Yeah. I'm alright, Albus. Bit surprised. Damn poltergeist."

"Yeah. Hey, you heading to breakfast?"

"Yeah. I was just getting out from the Defense classroom, clearing up some unfinished business with a couple of First Years and Professor Lovegood." Scorpius kept in stride with Albus. "You hear what happened to old Minerva McGonagall? Died in her sleep, last night. Healers reckon it's what the Muggles call a heart-attack. It's natural...so they say."

"Yeah. I wouldn't doubt that. At ninety-two, you can't just dodge one of those."

They had arrived at the base of the Grand Staircase and could hear the voices of hundreds of other students either descending to the Great Hall or already there, slathering their eggs in ketchup. "Ready for Quidditch tryouts?" asked Scorpius.

"Yep. Should be a good selection, this year."

As Albus approached the Gryffindor table, hundreds of owls flew in overhead from the rafters and landed before their masters, holding their legs up to be rid of their burden of overheavy chocolates and other assorted letters. He stood before his fathers' bird, Hagrid, named in honor of Professor Rubeus Hagrid, who was aged but showing no signs of slowing down, and untied the letter on his leg. He recognized his father's neat, albeit imperfect scrawl and opened the envelope.

_Albus,_ _I've been made Head of the Auror Office. If she finds out I'm writing you to tell you this before she reads the _Prophet_ this morning, she'll kill me. Salary should increase a few Galleons. Good luck on your Quidditch tryouts. I've heard about Professor McGonagall. She was a good, strong woman. She's being buried next weekend, and the Knight Bus should be there to pick you up. Much love, your father, Harry_

Albus smiled, folding the letter and placing it in his pocket as Professor Longbottom strode over with a quill and long roll of parchment in his hand. "Albus," he said, smiling serenely. "Good to see you. How's your dad?"

"Not bad. Mum's busy plotting his murder, right now, but we'll make on, somehow."

"Heard about his promotion. Should be Minister by Christmas."

"I doubt that happening," said Lily, who appeared before Albus. "He said he won't take any position higher than Head of the Auror Department. Always noble old Dad, eh, Albus?" She smiled, taking a sausage and placing it on her plate.

"Yep," said Ablus. "Wouldn't want to see you mentioning that to him."

"Anyhow, it appears that Potions is your first class, followed by Care, a break, Charms, Transfiguration, History, another free period, and finishing up the day with Defense Against the Dark Arts." Professor Longbottom tapped the parchment with his wand and handed it to Albus. "Sound good, then? Right." As the Professor walked away, Albus could scarce help but let a whisper of a laugh slip from his mouth at the sight of an enchanted _HEX ME!_ sign on the back of Professor Longbottom's robes.

"Erm, Professor?" said Albus, attempting to gain the attention of Professor Longbottom, but to no avail. "Be right back..."

"No. Scorpius already has the sign off."

Albus looked up as Scorpius took a seat next to him. "Albus. Lily. Potions first?" Albus nodded. "Ah."

"I'll see you later, Al," said Lily, standing and hefting up her bag.

"See you." Al piled his plate with bacon and eggs, listening to the usual drone of the students at their conversation.

He had scarcely finished his breakfast when he heard a soft voice behind him. "Hello, Albus." Al looked up to see a tall, silver-blonde girl smiling at him, neither embarrassed nor in any way unhappy.

"Hello, Katherine," he replied. Katherine was the daughter of Fleur Weasley, who had married Bill several years before. "How are you?"

"Fine, thanks," she said. "Mother's still away in America for the international Witches Representation Squad conference. And you?"

"Not bad."

"Listen." Katherine sat beside Al, propping her head on her hand, elbow on the table. "I was wondering if you'd like to have a drink on the next Hogsmeade visit? If you've planned something already, that's okay..."

"No," said Albus, scarcely knowing that he was feeling far more confident now than his father ever had, even at his age. "No, that's fine! And, maybe sometime before, we could...have dinner, maybe? If you've got other things, I understand completely."

"I'm free a while, unless I have homework." She leaned in close to him, her breath smelling sweet and minty. "See you around, Albus." Katherine stood and made her way out of the Great Hall. _Damn!_ thought Albus. _Should have kissed her when I'd had the chance!_

Albus stood, making his way back to the tower, intent upon collecting his bag.

Albus passed under the viaduct entrance just as the bell rang from the clock tower, telling him that he was on time for his class. Making his way down into the dungeons, he followed the other students who were already beginning to clot the door outside the Potions classroom. "In here, please," said Professor Rowel, who stood a head-and-a-half shorter than Albus. "Welcome back, Albus," said the professor, shaking his hand. "Excited, are you?"

"Yeah," replied Albus, taking a seat at the table in front of Rowel's desk. "Should be a great year."

"Should be, indeed," replied Professor Rowel. "Turn to the _New Standard Potions Text_, page eight, if you please. You should find sufficient, revised instructions for a nice, month-long work on the Polyjuice Potion, which is to be part of your final exam."

* * *

Nick strode into Ollivanders, having not visited for a few years. How unfortunate, he recounted, that Ollivander was nearing his time. He stroked his beard, seeing the old man standing there, organizing boxes of wands. "May I help you?" said Ollivander, raising his eyes. He seemed to be of poor vision, and placed the spectacles hanging about his neck on the bridge of his nose. "Hm...may I help you, sir?"

"I am in need of a wand, Mr. Ollivander, and I hear you are the best," said Nick, holding up the two halves of the broken wand he had received many years before. "Left wand arm, precisely thirty-six inches in length. The wand is not one of yours, but it is of high quality, as you should no doubt find." He placed the wand on the desk and stepped back, allowing Mr. Ollivander ample room to appraise the now-useless shaft of wood.

"Blue spruce...an odd selection, though no doubt it would have been good for Charms. Thirteen inches precise. A bit of an experiment, you ask me. And...I'll be damned." Ollivander had discovered the core of the wand. "Unicorn horn." He looked up at Nick. "I'll wager this was taken, most violently indeed, from the animal that had, at one time, possessed this. There are dark magics that I have seen in my day, but I have never seen something as horrendous as this. It is one thing to take the horn from a fallen unicorn, but quite another to have ripped it from the creature that had lived with this thing, symbolizing its elegance!"

"Too right you are, Ollivander," said Nick, who stepped forward. He grasped the front of Ollivander's robes and lifted him three feet from the ground. "Find me a wand, or it shall be much more painful than it need be."

Ollivander's lip quivered, but he did not take his eyes from Nick's face. "I should never do something that would disgrace the Wizarding world!"

"Have it your way, then," said Nick. He grasped Ollivander's wand and pulled it from the pocket of the old man's robe. "I shall enjoy this, old man." He snickered, letting the laugh grow into something far more sinister than Ollivander had ever heard. He could see the old man's eyes glistening and turning a pale, ash-gray. _"Avada Kedavra!"_ With that final Curse, Ollivander fell sickeningly to the shop floor, not a twitch to be seen from his most unfortunate, broken corpse. Nick turned the man over and saw that Ollivander's face was stricken with a pure, utter horror. He had done as he had planned. Now, it was time to see the latest, greatest landmark, which would ensure his rise to power. He had much to do, and so little time to waste. Without a further sound, he walked back through the new-formed arch into the courtyard and Disapparated.


	2. Mudbloods and Murmurs History Repeated

Albus need only catch a glimpse of the _Prophet_ headline the next morning to see something that would reverberate through the Wizarding world: _Celebrated British Wandmaker Slain!_ He choked into his orange juice as several students screamed at the headline, and rushed immediately to the Gryffindor dormitory. Rather than trotting, he sprinted up the staircases, taking the steps four at a time, arriving without having run out of breath. Samuel and the rest of Gryffindor house who weren't at breakfast had already made it into the dormitory. "Look at this paper!" shouted Albus, thrusting it into the face of Samuel, who was tired but alert.

"Bloody hell!" he shouted, snatching the paper from Albus and sitting at the table near the window. _"Ollivander, maker of fine British wands, was found slain in the early hours of this morning, after he had been apparently tortured, and the Dark Mark being placed above the shop. However, in the many searches of the world, including the recent expeditions made and funded by Xenophillius Lovegood, no such trace has been found of the Dark Lord returning. Furthermore, the Minister of Magic, Merlinus Gandalfus Puckeringham has authorized investigations into the matter, particularly on behalf of Mr. Ollivander's death. 'We have no existing reason to believe that Voldemort has returned,' said the Minister. 'However, we will not allow the escape of whoever has done this disservice to our world. We have worked for many years to improve the lives of those in our community, and we will not return to the years of either of the Wizarding Wars.' Mr. Ollivander is the known maker of the wand of one Harry James Potter, Auror Department Head. While the community at large is deeply disturbed and aggrieved by such a loss, there are, as of yet, no reports that a panic has spread to the rest of the Wizarding World."_

Samuel looked up. "Blimey, mate," he said, shaking his head and putting his hand on the front page. "This is awful."

"Yeah," agreed Albus, picking up the paper and examining the moving photograph of Ollivander. "There aren't going to be many wands sold in Ollivander's shop, if they do like Dad says they did last time. You know...when Voldemort gained power." The rest of the Common Room gasped at the mention of the name. "What? I honestly don't understand you people. If you don't want me to mention the damn name, don't be around when I do." Albus stood up. "I'm upset as you, Samuel," said Albus, patting his friend on the back. "But I think you should get down to breakfast. Don't want to be late to Herbology, yeah?"

Samuel nodded, agreeing, and shuffled off to the boys' dormitory to dress. Albus, on the other hand, Prefects' badge pinned to his chest, ushered the first years to their own dormitories, reminding them to get to class.

"Read about Ollivander," said Scorpius, walking alongside Albus as they made their way across the Transfiguration courtyard in front of the Dark Tower. "How mad d'you have to be to do off with a wandmaker?"

"I honestly don't know," replied Al, shaking his head. "But, if it's anything like Dad said it was when Voldemort had power, it'll be the talk of the whole school for days." Al sighed. "Mum'll be in full panic, about now. Be worrying constantly about us. I'm not saying we're not self-sufficient, but I'm also not saying she's not justified."

"I'm with you there, mate." Scorpius put a hand on Al's shoulder. They had passed a portrait depicting a small, eccentric wizard with a handlebar moustache and entered greenhouse one. "Wonder what Professor Longbottom's got planned?"

"I'll tell you what," said a bright, beaming blond man holding a venemous tentacula. "Careful. This one's a cross-polination. It's far more dangerous than the others. Instantly lethal if it manages to bite you on your neck or shoulder."

"Brilliant!" said Albus, momentarily forgetting the trouble that had been all over Hogwarts the entire morning.

Professor Longbottom lead them into greenhouse three, where the rest of the class was already gathered. The bell rang as they entered. "Hello, class, and welcome to another year in Herbology! You'll notice that I have what appears to be an ordinary venemous tentacula. I assure you, this is no ordinary tentacula. This is a cross-pollination that has just been approved by the Ministry. The venom has been diluted so that, if you should be bitten, it won't be instantly fatal if it's had a go at your neck or shoulder." The Professor set the plant down and tapped it a bit too enthusiastically with his wand, dissintegrating the pot and sending the tentacula flying through the air, where it landed on the floor some distance away. "Sorry! Sorry, don't worry!"

"Here, Professor," said Rose Weasley, carefully picking up the plant, which was attempting a rather slow escape over the greenhouse floor on its writhing tendrils.

"Thank you, Rose," said Professor Longbotom. "See? Need to be careful, especially with the most dangerous of plants!" He put the tentacula into a second pot, which was slightly larger and filled with fertilizer and soil. He lectured them on the need for safety, then demonstrated putting on his goggles and gloves, whil the class attempted to warn him of the plant, which was wrapping its tendrils about his waist, making its way up his thorax. Looking down when he finally realized that there was something wrong, Professor Longbottom rapped the plant smartly on the head, which appeared similar to the cavity of a Venus flytrap. "Exactly what I mean," said Professor Longbottom, finally prying the final tendrils from his stomach. "Just because you see your teacher being careless does not give you an excuse. In my day, I would've had twenty points deducted!"

Before Albus knew it, the bell had rung, and the class was filing out of the greenhouse. Albus had a break, so he headed for Hagrid's hut, saying goodbye to Scorpius as his friend made his way to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

This is a trip that Albus had taken many times, and caught his brother, James, along the way. Today, the sun was bright and the early-September sky was clear and blue. The birds chirped, and the Whomping Willow stood quite still. Albus laughed as he thought of the many stories his father had told about that tree. The tree, he recalled, was the guardian of a secret passage directly into the Shrieking Shack. His father had said that, despite the rumors, it was not haunted. Rather, the shack had been the moonlight haunt of one Remus John Lupin once in a full moon. The werewolf had been his grandfather's friend, and his father's teacher.

"Hullo, Albus!" said Hagrid, striding over. Albus noticed that Hagrid's hair had turned a slightly lighter shade of gray, contrasting from the silver that had been the majority of the color in his hair the previous year.

"Hey, Hagrid!" said Albus, waving and receiving the knee-buckling pat on the shoulder. "How're you?"

"Not bad, Albus. Flesh-eatin' slugs have been at me pumpkin patch, again. I'm thinkin' about puttin' a little more o' Professor Longbottom's secret repellent on 'em. Always does the trick." Hagrid gestured over to the pumpkin patch in front of his hut. "They're no' gonna be as big as every year since you've bin here, mind, but they'll be grand, they will."

Albus smiled. "I don't mind a small pumpkin, Hagrid. So long as it's a pumpkin, it's fine by me." He examined the pumpkin closely. "D'you mind if I Charmed these pumpkins, Hagrid? I'd help you harvest them, too. I don't mind."

Hagrid beamed, happy that his friend would volunteer. "I'd be mighty happy, at that, Albus, but I couln't accept that much help!" He withdrew a very large, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose, giving Albus the impression of a foghorn. "Yeh're father was like that, y'see?"

"Hagrid, I really woudn't mind. I'd Levitate them up to the castle, and we'd be done in half the time."

Hagrid waved a hand. "No, no! I won't have any o' that! It's too much fer me to think about!"

"Really, Hagrid. I wouldn't ask to help if I didn't mean it." Albus smiled, noting the slightly diminished size of the fruits compared to the previous Halloween's.

Hagrid sighed. "Alrigh', Albus. Ye sure you can handle it?"

"If you can lift them with your bare hands, I can lift them with my wand."

* * *

"This is what I had been waiting for," said Nick to himself, gazing in at the house that was about to empty itself of its inhabitants. "I notice he never takes them with him. What a petty mistake, really." Nick smiled, watching as the man with the glasses and the green eyes Disapparated. He and his wife, the one with the scarlet hair, had left for work at the perfect time. Nick stepped over the garden gate, noting the unusual silence that had overtaken the neighborhood this early in the day. It was not quite as early as it could have been, he noted, but nevertheless, it was something to be cautious of.

Nick tapped the lock with his wand and strode inside. He looked about him. The photographs of the man's children were well-taken, and they would be useful in keeping Potter from coming after him.

Although Dumbledore had not confided everything in him, there were certain bits of knowledge that he had been able to piece together, even after all these years. The Stone, for instance, was one of the two things that Potter was in possession of. And the other, the Cloak...that was a harder one to come by. Potter always kept it on his person, in what Nick suspected was an Undetectably-Extended inner pocket of his robes. Despite this knowledge, Nick smiled as he found his way into Potter's study, moving silently to the desk drawer where he knew the Stone to be kept. It was locked, but Nick was far more clever than he had ever been taken for, even after the creation of the Philosophers' Stone. He moved his wand in a complicated pattern, muttering incantations of a most peculiar kind. For a moment, nothing seemed too have taken place. Then a lock clicked most perceptively, and the drawer slowly opened to reveal a gold portrait frame, inlaid with the black stone that he had been looking for. Nick smiled, having thought it out carefully. He removed from his pocket a stone that looked alike and carefully took the stone decorating the portrait frame. Placing the real Stone in his cloak, Nick put the other where the former had been and readministered the Charms protecting the drawer.

Nick had never been this close to it in his life. He laughed quietly, noting the arrogance with which Potter guarded his possessions. He could feel the power surge within the Stone, even for that near imperceptible moment. Now, to wait for the appearance of the Cloak.

* * *

Albus tapped his wand against the side of the desk as the Transfiguration teacher, Professor Baker, had demonstrated, Transfiguring it from a desk to a pig and back. "Very good, Albus," said Professor Baker, a tall, young, bearded man from America. "Excellent! Twenty points to Gryffindor!" As Albus sat back at his table, next to Samuel, the Professor leaned on his desk. "I want all of you to be aware that this is your N.E.W.T. year, and there will be more expectations of you than ever." He looked at all the sober faces of his students. "I will tolerate less of you now than I ever have. There will be no products whatsoever from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and anything unrelated to studying is prohibited. This is not to say," he continued, "that I will not immediately refer you to the nurse if I find that you are incapable of studying. If you are in a panic, I'll recommend you go straight there. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor," said the students.

* * *

James embraced Catherine in a kiss, the thoughts on his mind of the wedding plans. There was so much to do, he reflected. There were so many people to go through, and his father was a Wizarding hero.

"James," said Catherine, breathing into James' neck, "James, I want to be with you the rest of my life."

"As do I want to be with you, Sweetheart," he replied, kissing her once more. "I can't wait..."

Before James could complete his sentence, an owl swooped down the chimney and landed before him on the endtable, holding up its leg and showing him a scarlet-colored Howler, which he immediately seized and tore open. _"James,"_ said his father's voice, _"The Aurors are on high alert, and we need every able-bodied witch and wizard we can muster. We need you here immediately. This is urgent, and we believe it involves what we discussed about the _Prophet_. Get down here, and bring Catherine."_ The Howler tore itself to shreds and burst into flame, reducing itself to ashes in moments. James turned to Catherine.

"Stay here, Catherine. I'm going to help Dad at the Ministry."

"But, James-!"

"No, Catherine," he said, gently. He kissed her tenderly on the mouth and withdrew, drinking in the sight of her. "No. Not after what we'd discussed." He placed a hand on her stomach, knowing it would begin to swell in the next few months. "I don't want to put you into any danger. I couldn't do that."

She nodded. "Promise me you'll come back, James." Her gaze met his and she did not blink. "Promise me. Say it."

He sighed, but meant it with all his heart. He would never abandon his wife and unborn child. Despite this meaning he secretly wished was true, he knew what she meant. "I promise, Catherine," he said, embracing her. "I promise I'll come back. You know I will."

As he threw on his robe and traveling cloak, he smiled at her. "I'll be damned if I don't." He winked and turned on the spot, immediately immersed in darkness.

James was about to gasp for breath when he heard urgent voices and opened his eyes. He was standing in the middle of the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic, witches and wizards passing, some of them nodding, others looking grim and saying to him over the din, "...wish it was under better circumstances you were here."

"James!" said his father, Harry. "James!" He made his way over to his father's voice and they walked toward a lift, together. The golden grilles clanged shut, crowding them in with other witches and wizards. In an urgent whisper, Harry spoke to his son. "I dunno, all this bullocks...Dementors traipsing about Stockton-on-Tees, Death Eaters loose in Surrey and where else. I tell you, it's all bloody mad."

"Death Eaters?" said James, recognizing this term as one his father only ever referred to when he was speaking of his own past. "Weren't they around when Voldemort was in power?"

"I don't bloody know. Why return after twenty-six years, though? This scar of mine," he gestured to the cut on his forehead, "only ever hurt when he was in power. Tell you the truth, I haven't even felt anyplace near it on my head so much as twinge the past twenty-six years. The point is, this is looking a bit mad. No one's been so scared since he was around, and all of a sudden, everything's chaos, mad." Harry shook his head, then looked about them in the emptying lift. "Where's Catherine?"

James drew a breath, having waited to tell his father since he had found out that morning. "Dad, there's more than one reason I asked her to marry me. Truth is..." James was uncertain he could do it, but he knew his father might fill in the blanks, eventually.

"You...hang on, James." He turned to his son in a combination of disbelief, shock and pride. "You didn't...?"

"I bloody did," he replied, subconsciously puffing up at the fact. "You're going to be a grandfather!"

"Congratulations!" Harry told his son as they stepped off the lift. "I don't bloody believe it! How long...?"

"Muggle doctors figure probably seven weeks." James winked.

Momentarily, they were joined by an stooped, elderly black man, once tall and proud, bald as ever and only slightly wrinkled, even for his age. "Harry, you know I never liked to stay out of a good fight. I'm going with you, if you don't mind. No arguments. You know they don't influence me." He smiled a grim smile, stepping into Harry's office and taking a pinch of Floo Powder from the inner pocket of his robe. "After you, Mr. Potter."

"Number Four, Privet Drive!" Harry stepped into the emerald flame, and James watched his father vanish into the Floo network, once again stepping into the house he knew to be the residence he had taken for seventeen years, the place he had grown up until the darkest times James could not even imagine.


	3. Hidden Blood on Hidden Walls

James stepped of the fireplace, wand at the ready. The place had long been abandoned, by the look of it. Dust was thick on the floor, yeilding with a dry crunch underfoot. "Dad," said James. "Dad, why did we take the Network straight to the house? Why-?"

Harry shushed him, holding a finger to his lips. "We're looking for clues, first," he said, his robe stirring clouds of dust. James was surprised that he and his father were not suffocating. "I lived here until I was seventeen. Just because the damn place has been abandoned doesn't mean that there isn't something here to look at." He proceeded to a cupboard under the stairs. "This is where I slept day and night until I started getting acceptance letters from Hogwarts." He tapped the lock with his wand and stood aside, preparing to Curse anything that might greet them.

Rather than receiving the welcoming committee of a Dark witch or wizard, thirteen black rats charged out of the cupboard, scattering and finding new places to hide. Harry nodded. "Well, it wasn't much more friendly even when I was living in there." He moved forward and immediately his eyes fell on a volume that had been meant to guide him through his years at Hogwarts. _Hogwarts, A History_ was somehow as brilliant as ever, even with the dust coating the cover and the mold beginning to corrupt the pages of the volume. "Something tells me that the answer's near. I don't know where." Harry tapped the book with his wand, muttering spells that sounded almost like song. Nothing happened. "There's something here, I know. Maybe not in the book..." He set it carefully aside and picked up the remains of a bottle of ink that had long since dried and broken.

James picked up the book and flipped through the pages, knowing there was something off about the book. He had known tomes like these, before, had felt them before he had ever set foot in Hogwarts, discovered their secrets under his father's supervision. Brow furrowed, he turned to the back of the old book, turning aside the endpaper and running his hand over the inside of the cover. Something caught his eye.

Raising his illuminated wand above the cover of the book, James squinted, barely able to discern thin, neat lines that contrasted with the rest of the inner cover. He tapped the thing, despite his lack of competence with Nonverbal magic, and immediately the cover gave way, turning to dust at the touch of his wand. He picked up a slip of parchment that had nothing to do with the book and unfolded it. "Dad," he said, barely able to read the curling letters. "Dad, look at this."

"What?" Harry turned to him and studied the note, looked down to the pile of dust on the floor, and back to the note. "How...?"

"Nonverbal magic, Dad. Simple curiosity." He looked up at his father, studying his eyes behind the circular lenses of the glasses that he knew had adorned his Father's face his entire life. "Can you make out any of this?"

Harry shook his head. "No. No, I don't..." Harry paused, recalling his third year. "But I know someone who does."

* * *

Harry thrust the parchment at Hermione Weasley, who eyed it suspiciously. "Found it at Number Four," he said, referring to his old former home. "It's got to do with the recent rabble-rousing."

"What is it?" she said, unfolding it carefully. "And where in the house did you find it?"

"Whenever I'd come home from Hogwarts for summer holiday, my Uncle Vernon would lock a lot of my stuff in the cupboard under the stairs. It's where he favored to hide my school books. It was in this." Harry placed the copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ before her. "I don't know why it'd be in there, but it was."

"Well," said Hermione, scanning the page. "It's literally nothing I've ever seen before. There's a bit of garbled Latin in the Runes, themselves, but beyond that, I can't make heads or tails of it. Hang on." She took a small book from the pocket of her robes and opened it, studying it carefully. After several moments of close, careful contemplation, she shook her head and slammed the volume, sending motes of dust everywhere. "I can't make the damn thing out, Harry. It may be an area we need, but I just can't make anything out."

"What was the Latin part, then?" said James, tapping his wand in his palm, pacing back and forth. "I mean, maybe you can't make out all of it, but there're certain parts you can read, can't you?"

"Well, yes," she said, looking up at him. "But it doesn't give us a total understanding of this thing, does it?" she said, eyeing the parchment with particular loathing. "Here." She held it up. "'_Though the Stone has failed, there are Others out there. Although He has failed once...we shall be restored to our former glory...though LeFay was failed at it, brilliant and devious though she was, Merlin theorized it correctly._'" Hermione looked at them. "It's all a bit dodgy, isn't it? Voldemort never left his plans lying around, and he was certainly not careless enough to leave them in the books of someone who, that particular moment in time, was a mere schoolboy." She looked at Harry with some of the flare he recognized as her spirit of adventure, cautious though she could be. "I could spend literally years trying to make heads or tails of this, but I don't think I'd be able to do anything more than crack the surface. You'd be better-served elsewhere." She looked at Harry and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Harry, I really am. I've done all I can."

"Thanks, Hermione," he said, stowing the note away in his robe and doing the same with his old school book. "I'll think of something. You know me. We all know I will."


	4. The Sorcerer's Request

_*A/N: I've decided to change this up a bit. Instead of being strictly Harry Potter, this is an AU/cross between Potter and Wizards of Waverly Place. Instead of strictly Harry, Harry, Harry, there'll also be Alex, Stevie, Harry. See how it works out, won't we?*_

* * *

Alex Russo broke the kiss Stevie had drawn her into, heart fluttering with love but she, herself feeling troubled. "Stevie... how'm I going to tell Mom and Dad? I know they love me, but... I'm not sure they'll understand."

Stevie smiled, cupping Alex' chin. "I'm sure they will, Alex," she said, kissing Alex softly on the lips. "Just give 'em a chance, huh?"

Alex smiled. She had always been so sure she'd find a relationship with a boy she'd be perfectly happy with, but now, she had found someone in whom she could trust as a significant other... and that someone happened to be a girl. "You're right," she said. "That's why I'm going to Obliviate them." Alex allowed a devious smile to play her lips, one that she knew Stevie would immediately pick up on.

"What... Alex, you can't do that! That'd undermine the point of coming out!" Stevie held Alex at arms' length. "Do you really want to ruin a perfectly good opportunity to learn?"

"Seriously, Stevie, it makes my brain hurt just thinking about it. I really shouldn't take it to heart..." Her protests were stifled by yet another kiss Stevie had planted on Alex' lips, which calmed her to such a point that she was almost certain that what she wanted more than anything at that moment was to take her up to her room and...

"Have I gotten throught to you, Alex?"

Alex' eyes remained closed, and she could still taste the sweetness of the girl's lips on hers. "Yes," she breathed, opening her eyes. "Yeah, you're right, Stevie." Alex smiled and wrapped her arms around Stevie's waist. "Meet me here tomorrow at three. Mom and Dad'll be having me doing my chores, and I really don't want to tell them while they're still uptight." She smiled at Stevie, whose hair was, as always, perfect; her goldenrod-colored bangs were swept to one, reminding Alex of a Japanese anime she had loved since she could remember. "That alright with you, babe? Or am I gonna have to convince you...?" Alex' fingers contemplated the handle of her wand, which protruded from the back of her boot, where she kept it in case of emergencies, so as to avoid a buttock being blasted off.

"I think I can live with that," said Stevie, smirking at Alex' seductive tone. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yes... you... will..." replied Alex, giving Stevie a kiss between every word and allowing the girl's hand to hold the back of Alex' head.

"Seeya then, Alex," said Stevie, stepping back and turning on the spot, vanishing into thin air.

For a while, Alex stared at the spot where Stevie had Disapparated, mischevious brain still working on a scheme that would lull her parents into a sense of euphoria enough that they would not take too hard her homosexuality... She was startled from her reverie when she heard footsteps at the mouth of the alley and turned to see Harper Finkle walking toward her, vivid red hair showing from beneath what appeared to be a seagull. "Hey, Alex. Do you know where Stevie is? I forgot to bring her the dress I made for her."

"What? Oh, yeah... she went home," replied Alex, walking forward.

"Oh, maaann! Why am I always late?"

Alex laughed as she placed an arm around her friend's shoulder. "C'mon, Harper! Maybe you can give it to her tomorrow!" Under her breath, Alex concluded, "...oh, I hope you forget, Harper Finkle."

"Did you say something, Alex?"

"No," replied Alex. She hoped Harper wouldn't see her devious smile.

Alex arrived in the sandwich shop the next morning, while Jerry and Theresa Russo, her parents, were still hard at work sweeping the tables in the lounge. She checked around for her brothers, Max and Justin, but, seeing no one, she pulled out her wand and waved it at the front door, which burst open, giving her enough time, she hoped, to enchant the mop to begin its lazy circuit of the kitchen floor. The two were too involved in trying to shut the door from a gust of wind, which she had magically created, to see her enchanting a rag to wipe clean the kitchen countertops.

Sooner than she had expected, Jerry managed to shut the front door and when he piped up, "Alex!" she immediately took hold of the mop and rag simultaneously, hoping her father hadn't spotted her.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Did you magically open the door?"

"N - uh, yeah, yeah I did." She looked up at him with what she hoped was a sincere smile, but she had the sudden sinking feeling that it had manifested as a guilty grimace.

Jerry crossed his arms over his chest. "I see what's going on," he said, looking at her.

"You do...?" said Alex, her heart falling into the pit of her stomach.

"Oh, yes." For a moment, he looked as though he might scold her, but his face broke into a smile as he said, "You wanted to show me that you aren't only a responsible witch, you're also a very competent housekeeper." He beamed at her. "Good job, Alex!"

Theresa walked over and hid her face while she wiped her eyes. "Jerry... maybe we can give her the morning off."

"Now," said Alex, letting go of the rag and momentarily forgetting that she had charmed them, "isn't that just a great idea! Wow, you guys, I never thank you enough!" She had, she hoped, continued "guiding" the mop and the rag before her parents had noticed anything.

But before anyone could say anything, Justin and Max rushed down the spiral staircase into the lounge, the eldes, Justin, holding a scroll of parchment in his hand. "Dad! Dad, you just got a summons from the Ministry of Magic in England!" he said, holding out the scroll.

"What? What for?"

"I don't know. It was addressed to you, so I brought it to you as soon as I could."

Jerry quickly slit open the parchment with a tap of his wand and unfurled the scroll, which he read, his eyes flicking back and forth across the surface of the page in a hurry. He looked up and closed his eyes. "Oh, God, no."

"What?" said Justin. "What is it?"

"It looks like he's back."

"Who?" asked Justin and Alex.

Jerry opened his eyes and sighed. "It looks like Lord Voldemort's returned."

"What? Voldemort? But Harry destroyed all the Horcruxes, didn't he?"

"Cool!" said Max. "You mean they've continued the Star Wars saga?"

Everyone eyed Max in frustrated sorrow. "Max," said Justin, slowly, "Lord Voldemort isn't a character from Star Wars... he's a real bad wizard with real bad plans."

"Oh," said Max, scratching his chin. "Well... does he at least carry a lightsaber? Or a blaster?" Max looked delighted at the idea.

Justin sighed. "Sure, Max... he's a big Star Wars fan, and he carries a lightsaber."

There was a rumbling from the upstairs, and Alex immediately threw down the rag and mop, which stopped their work at once and fell to the floor. She ran up the stairs and into the living room, closely followed by her brothers and parents. In the middle of the room, a man in a long, black traveling cloak was hunched over a deflated spare tire that looked as though it had been torn off of a random wreck.

Turning, the wizard showed that he was tall, thin and intelligent. "Hello, Jerry," said the wizard, holding out his hand. "I'm Harry Potter, here on behalf of the British Ministry of Magic."

"But," said Jerry, "I thought the Minister..."

"The Minister's giving a conference to the reporters at the _Prophet_. Then he'll be supervising a few security updates and the like. He sent me in his stead."

"This is about Voldemort, right?"

Harry Potter shook his head. "No. This is about someone Dumbledore was close to. This is about Nicolas Flamel."

Jerry froze; he'd heard that name before, he knew it. But where?

"Wait," said Justin, "wasn't... wasn't Nicolas Flamel the guy who helped Dumbledore create the Philosopher's Stone?" Harry nodded, and Justin sat down. "Oh, God... oh, God, no."

"Apparently he's been idling for more than six hundred years," said Harry, pulling an old, worn parchment from within his robe. "I've had Hermione Granger translate this for me... it's taken her a few weeks, but she's made it this far."

"What is that?" said Alex, who was not generally interested in anything older than the cuticles on her nails.

"It's a parchment I found in one of my old schoolbooks," replied Potter. "It's an agenda Flamel hid a number of years ago. Apparently, the book I found it in was either older than it looked, or he somehow managed to slip it into one of my own textbooks."

There was a pause, which was broken by Max. "So this guy... he comes back from the dead... for a piece of paper?"

Everyone in the room turned to Max, exasperated. "No, Max," said Justin. "Apparently, he had a Horcrux hidden somewhere. That's how he's been alive six hundred years."

Max's eyes widened in shock. "He's been alive six hundred years?"

Jerry paused and turned to Harry, disappointed in his oddest child. "We can't get through to him, either."

"It's alright, Jerry," said Potter, picking up the spare tire. "We'll require you at the Ministry as soon as you can... as well as any able-bodied witch and..." He was cut off by a loud _pop_, signalling that someone had just Apparated into the room.

"Hey, Alex," said Stevie, looking around the room. "Harry, right?"

"Erm... yes," replied Harry, taking an extended hand.

"Stevie Nichols." She smiled charmingly at him.

"So... so are you coming along with..." Harry gestured at the room at large.

"Huh? Where to?"

"Um... Stevie, this might be a bad time to explain to Mom and Dad," whispered Alex, who walked toward her girlfriend.

Unfortunately for Alex, someone had heard. "Explain what to mom and dad?" said Theresa, looking from one girl to the other and back. "What? What're you kids keeping from me?"

"Mom, please... don't make me explain-!"

"I am your mother, Alex Russo! What are you keeping from your parents? What are you keeping from us?"

Alex' heart sank, and she thought she could feel it hitting her toes. Instinctively, she walked over to stand beside Stevie and laced her fingers in those of the other girl. "I'm in love, Mom. I'm in love with Stevie." The room was silent. "Mom, Dad... I'm gay." Alex heart split in two as she said it. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes, and she'd be damned if no one else could see them, the stupid fat drops of salt water.

"Alex..." said Jerry, stepping forward. "Alex... I thought... but all those boys... what about the...?" Jerry was at a loss for words. "Didn't you go out with...?"

"Yes, Dad... I did. I just... I've been going out with Stevie since I was seventeen." Her heart broke into smaller fragments as she released her longstanding passion.

"Alex..." Jerry stepped forward and sighed. "Alex..." The words appeared awkward for him. Taking a deep breath, he finally said, "Sweetheart, I support you one-hundred percent. I may not be quick to adapt to the idea, but I'll certainly do what I can."

Alex' heart was no powder. The dust was scattering on the wind, she was sure. She had just reached this conclusion when her mother swept her up in her arms and kissed her forehead. "Alex... oh, God, I love you no matter what!" She began rambling in Spanish, occasionally casting a word that Alex recognized. "Stevie," she said, finally, "We love you as part of the family. You know that." She smiled and pulled Stevie into a tight hug, patting the girl's head. "Both of you... you have our blessing."

"And mine," said Max, who was still in awe. Justin merely gaped, unable to make a sound with his constricted throat.

"C'mere, Max," said Alex, smiling tearfully and pulling Max into the tightest hug she could manage.

"I'm sorry to be rude, everyone," said Harry Potter, who held up the tire and checked a gold pocketwatch on a long chain. Alex caught a glimpse of a face that sported nine miniscule moving planets and only one hand, "but anyone willing and able has to be at the Ministry in about three minutes. I can't make a Portkey without Ministry authorization, and I can't tell when I'd be able to get to the nearest Floo-capable fireplace." Turning to Jerry, he added, "...Unless you have one."

"I still don't like the Floo network. I'll consider getting it installed, but I'm not really too sure at the moment."

A choking sound from behind the Russos made them turn. Standing there, the odd seagull-topped had and matching dress in her hand, vivid red hair barely distinguishable from her red cheeks, was Harper, who stood, mouth agape, staring at Alex.

"Harper... what's wrong?"

Harper seemed to have gained her composure. "What... what's wrong? What's wrong is that you can't even... I mean..." Harper stood rooted to the spot. Without warning, she dropped the clothes and spat, "I can't believe it! You dyke cunt! You can tell your family... your best friend doesn't even mean anything...!" For a moment, it looked as though Harper might fall to her hands and knees to vomit, but whatever Alex had expected, she didn't expect what happened next. Her best and oldest friend, the girl she had trusted to be in on her schemes, even if it was a grudging trust on the girl's part, moved across the room with unexpected lightning speed in two strides and struck Alex across the face with a flat hand, a slap that turned Alex face immediately tomato-red. "Not telling me you're a witch is one thing, but hiding the fact that you're gay for eight years...!"

"Harper," whispered Alex. "Harper..."

"No, Alex Russo! No! You are a cold, deceptive bitch! If you ever talk to me again..." Harper shook her head and stormed out, leaving Alex to contemplate everything that had just happened.

After several minutes of silence, Harry said, "Mr. Russo, I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your family disputes, but... the Dark wizard that's out and about..."

"Oh, right." Jerry walked over to the old tire. "Who's coming along?"


	5. To Show No Love

As the roaring and crackling of the emerald-green flames dissipated, Alex Russo saw that she was now standing in a hall larger, she was sure, than any cathedral that stood in Manhattan; its dark stone walls and wood floors boasted a grandeur she had never before seen in Muggle London; a golden statue stood at the center of a playing fountain, displaying a house elf standing to one side of a wizard, whose wand was aloft; the elf's ears and the wand of the wizard spouted water, as did the leveled bow of a centaur, the wand of a witch, and the hat of a goblin. Unlike in many of the moving photographs she had seen, Alex' noticed that the faces were not upturned toward one another, but toward some indistinct, often elusive concept… the future.

"Mr. Russo," said a witch just shy of middle age, "Mr. Russo, I'm Padma Patil, head of the Muggle Liaison office. I was told to direct you to the Auror office. You're needed there."

"What about me and Stevie?" asked Alex, finding her girlfriend's hand with her own, taking hold of it. "Where do we go?"

"As many Muggles are still unaware of the present situation, you and Stevie Nichols will be on the Neighborhood Watch program, in the Ordinary Magical Law Enfocement Department. Justin and Max can-"

"Uh," said Justin, "I'm not sure sending Max somewhere is necessarily a good idea, Ms. Patil."

As if on cue, Max asked, "Does my wand make my ass look big?"

Padma nodded to Justin. "I see... Max, we'll need you to find our snipes, out of Experimental Charms. They're small birds that're invisible to the human eye."

Max nodded. "I get to find birds? Awesome!" For a moment, Max appeared elated. Then, as though someone had messily glued on his features, his face fell. "But... if they're invisible to the human eye, how am I going to find them?"

Padma Patil turned to Jerry Russo with an "Is-He-Bloody-Serious?" look, her brows raaised, a clear frown etched on her face. Jerry returned the gesture with an "I'm-Afraid-So" shrug. "Max, they're only visible through the eye of needle." Padma Patil withdrew her wand from an inner pocket of her Ministry-issue robe, twirled it once in the air, and caught it in the palm of her hand. "Just look through this. We'd love more people looking for the snipes, but right now so many people are looking for Flamel that we really can't be bothered." Handing Max the needle, she straightened. "Where were we before the conversation turned to snipes?"

"You were just about to assign me," said Justin, looking the voluptuous Padma Patil up and down. "Twate - I mean... whatever my assignment is, I'm okay with it."

Padma smiled vaguely and said, "There aren't many qualified people in the Department of Mysteries, right now, to help the Unspeakables. You're sufficiently qualified that you might be given access to the Department."

Alex, who until that moment had been preoccupieed with holding Stevie's hand and stroking her hair, looked up. "Wait... you mean Dad's going to the Auror Office and Justin's working with the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries? Uh... Ms. Escadrille, I'd like to be reassigned."

Padma stepped forward. "I'm afraid that's not possible. Ms. Russo, we need more people than ever on the ground." She turned to Jerry. "Mr. Russo, unless Muggles seem to know too much about confidential Ministry information, it shouldn't be necessary to Obliviate. British Muggles have more-or-less accepted the existence of Wizardkind. Mr. Potter heads your Department. Ms. Russo, Ms. Nichols, you'll work under Seamus Finnigan. Sustin, your partner is Phillius Plum.

"If you excuse me, I'm required to speak with Scotland Yard about something that is more than just a rash of break-ins." She stepped into the fireplace and disappeared in the writhing, licking emerald flame.

* * *

A world away, Harper put on _Ugh_, neither angry at, hateful of, or loving her ex-best friend. After all, she had not been informed of the girl's homosexuality until that morning; apparently, it meant nothing that she had been the girl's best friend. And because of that, not knowing something big was nothing that could possibly have hurt her.

After sitting on her bed a while, she looked over at the computer on her desk and noticed a new IM from Cody Martin, one of her regular contacts from several years before.

_zm: u there harper?_

After a moment of hesitation, Harper typed her reply.

_h: yeah. what's goin on?_

She only had to wait a moment.

_zm: bailey broke up w/ me_

_h: y?_

_zm: i was reprogramming the particle accelarator when bailey walked in saying we needed 2 talk. when i asked her what was on her mind, she said she'd been doing some thinking, and that while she loved me and thought i was cute, she didn't love me that way._

There was a long pause in which Harper did not breathe. She was about to respond when she saw Cody's three-word reply: _bailey's a lesbian._

_what?_

_xm: sum grl named miley stewart walked into the room, asking bailey if she was ready to go on their d8._

_h: wtfh? that little snatch! u didn't deserve her, cody! neither does that little twat, miley stewart!_

Harper wanted to type more, but she was unable to find the words to convey her true feelings for him.

_zm: harper?_

_h: yea?_

A pause.

_zm: i'm lonely. i need u 2nite._

* * *

Seamus Finnigan paid for the drinks of his new subordinates and sat down at the table by the window of the Leaky Cauldron. Setting the drinks down, he said, "I hope you'll forgive us for the short notice." He sipped his firewhiskey. "The Ministry's been swamped after all this started. You wouldn't believe all the shite we've been dealing with in the past few days."

Alex neglected her gillywater and leaned forward. "So, what're we supposed to do first?"

"We've established patrols in most parts of Britain. Dufftown's about where security really starts amping up; we've got enchangments up the arse anywhere closer than that to Hogwarts."

"What about the Muggles? Do they know anything about this?"

"Their governments definitely do. They were a bit skeptical at first, but with a few well-placed Confundus Charms, the less willing ones caved. It sounds easy, I know, but it's not."

"We didn't have to use magic to convince some Muggles to wear Shield Hats and the like, said Paige Paisley, who sat down at the table next to them and sipped at her mead. "Some of them don't take them at face value... you know, for what they really are, but there were a few that had more than an inkling of what's going on. Those're the ones we least have to worry about."

"So, basically we just patrol the streets?" said Stevie incredulously, finishing off a shot of Barman Tom's sake.

"Just about," answered Seamus. "That, and we investigate anything that doesn't sit right. If you can help, though, call for the Auror Office, first. They'll really help in a tight corner.

"But... how're we supposed to catch this Flamel creep?" said Alex. She held Stevie's hand, her other occupied with her untouched glass of gillywater. "What's the chance that he'll just walk into a crowded public place and have fifty curses hit him at once?"

"Alex," said Stevie, "That would never happen. I'm sure we've got some sort of battle plan." She looked to Seamus, who nodded.

"Most Dark wizards try to learn from their own mistakes and the mistakes of others. The thing, though, is they end up making entirely new mistakes as a result. I've got a fairly good team tracking leads as it is. If they have a whiff of anything, they'll put it through to me. That's when we call in the Aurors."

"So, it's a little like a Muggle police raid?" said Alex, her eyebrows raised. "You wait for reinforcements at some old, creepy abandoned wearhousethat may or may not house the sick experiments of some random-ass Dark witch or wizard? Great, I can already see where we'll end up... back at square one."

"Erm... what?"

"All the ensigns in Star Trek end up dying first! I mean, it's called expendability for a reason!"

"Again... what?"

"Oh... this isn't Star Trek? Well, that explains why I'm still alive."

"You think this is a jokie?" said Dean Thomas, who was leaning against the wall and had refused drink. "Russo, you're no better than the fuck-hole Mundungus Fletcher who was supposed to be fighting alongside us against You-Know-Who! He was such a coward, the little cunt was, that he Disapparated when things got tough. An' who dies because he dodged the curse? Mad-Eye Moody!" Dean huffed and shook his head, then looked away.

"You know," said Seamus quietly, "he's right. I know you think a lot of this is rubbish, but people've already died at the hand of Flamel. I won't even let me grandkids out of sight, next time I see them."

Soonafter, Alex and Stevie retreated up the stairs of the bar for the night. Alex stared out the window at the unseen Muggle street far below, watching the carriage lights of a train flicker past.

After some time, she changed into a tee-turned-negligee and returned to staring out the window, looking for some vague, long-forgotten truth that she had missed.

"C'mere, babe," said Stevie, who now wore only a leather choker and her clitoris piercing. She was considering a navel piercing, and the Norwegian Ridgeback tattoo was plainly visible in the lights of the train carriages. "I want to take that nightie off of you and fuck you real hard." She kissed Alex' neck and fondled a firm, round buttock. "C'mere, babe... please? You don't have to if you don't want to."

In her mind's eye, Alex saw herself as she had been the day she'd met Stevie Nichols.

She'd been in detention with Larry-Tate, and even though she'd passed the hottie in question in the hall, she had either never found the time, courage or opportunity. Alex had desparately wanted to talk to her, but something had stopped her.

Regardless, that one detention had been a journey toward epiphany, revelation.

"Hey," said Stevie, walking up to Alex. "I'm Stevie Nichols." She held out her hand.

"Alex Russo." Hesitantly, she said, "you, uh... you wanna get a smoothie, or something?"

Stevie smiled. "You're checking me out, aren't you?"

"What? No!" Alex snorted. Realizing her uncertainty, which had never crippled her like this, she cleared her throat. "Uh... actually, y... yeah. I just... I've never met... I mean..." Her words had failed her. For the first time in her life, Alex Russo realized that she was infatuated; somehow, though, she knew it would last this time.

"I gotta show you something, Alex," said Stevie, grasping her hand. "If you're not okay, you don't have to."

Alex found that something in Stevie's eye was impossible to refuse. "Okay." For a moment, Stevie merely smiled at her. Then, she turned on the spot and Alex was following int the crushing darkness, which squeezed the breath from her.

The bands that seemed to be compressing, tightening around her relaxed until she could feel the breeze on her skin. She opened her eyes; atop the Empire State Building, she felt as though she was on top of the world. The sun was sinking toward the horizon, but hours of daylight still remained. "The Muggles won't see or hear us," said Stevie, smiling with her broad mouth. "We could say or do anything we want up here, and no one'll ever know." She was tantalyzingly close to Alex, who was transfixed on her smile.

"Stevie... Stevie, I've dated a few guys, but to feel this way about a girl... about anyone... it's something entirely new to me. I'm so..." She was unprepared for the kiss that had suddenly been planted on her lips; although they were quite as dry and chapped as the lips of many of the boys she had kissed, this new sensation spreading throughout her body was alarmingly brilliant... and right. They drew away from one another to assess their feelings.

Alex knew without having to open her eyes that the girl she had just kissed had opened her own. She, on the other hand, knew that she had found someone who understood her, knew how she worked; her heart, anyhow. _I am so going to have to tell her this is never what I'm like,_ she thought. _Not now, though. Let's see where this leads._

Opening her eyes, Alex found Stevie's face only inches from her own. "Well?"

It was then that she felt the most peculiar sensation of the wind on her open lips. "I..." For the first time, words failed to describe a kiss. It was perfect, but... "It's more than perfect," she murmured to herself. She leaned in for another kiss and found that Stevie's lips were sweeter than cotton candy, glossier than the pages of a fashion magazine, and as immovable as stone, though they yielded to her every touch, want and need. They were lips such that Alex wondered why she had ever dated members of the opposite sex, it was such a perfect kiss.

_Okay... kisses, plural._ It was difficult for Alex to stand; the jelly-like feeling in her knees was spreading throughout her boyd. But she felt a new sensation, that of her arms, as though she were Imperiused, allowing themselves to travel up to Stevie's shoulders. There, they rested long enough for a tongue to slide into her mouth and learn her teeth like a blind man reading braille, counting them, memorizing every molar, every canine... _Every cavity from eating too much cake, anyone?_

Stevie's tongue found hers, and as surprised as she was to feel it, she moaned in response, wanting it to last forever, to seem new for just as long. Now she was holding both sides of Stevie's face, a silent plea in a dead ancient language that told her a flame had been ignited in her heart that would not die with a kiss alone.

Feeling a hand slide down to her ass, in spite of all the attention her waist had been receiving thus far, she knew the girl had yielded. The hand, while firm, guiding and experienced, was gentle, almost reassuring. It slid up and down the length of her thigh, then returned to her ass, where goosebumps had formed; her skirt, after all, was only so long.

Whatever madness had possessed her, Alex felt a heat rising in her that she had never felt before, something far more powerful, even, than the passion she had talked herself into believeing she had for the boys she had gone out with. That, it seemed, broke the crucial link between reality and fantasy. She turned and felt her fingers curl around the metal bars of the safety wall, felt her back arch. Her eyes were closed, and her lips parted, her head turned instinctually. Alex felt strong arms embracing her, felt one hand slide gently, innocently downward.

The hot breath on her neck tickled, and an impossible effort kept Alex from coming. Stevie's lips met her neck, traced a gentle pattern of arousing sensuality, letting it flow across her body.

Stevie's hand had reached Alex' pantyline, had stopped there to torture her. _No..._ thought Alex. _No, she stopped there to study me, see what I'd do._ Stubbornly, Alex stayed her body and mind, not allowing herself to plead for release. She waited, impatient but with steadfast resolve. It was so powerful that, while it made her hotter and hotter, it hurt in the deepest, most God-awful way.

Stevie's hand crept steadily beneath the waistband of Alex' panties, a maddening, aching, burning, tickling numb sensation that began in her midriff and crept northward into her small breasts, tightening her nipples, then double-timed its way down into her legs, finally reaching her tight, moist pussy. She felt herself whimpering in aroused agony, knew a finger touching her clit. Alex had never been touched there, and it seemed at that moment as though unexplored possibilities had flung open doors she had never known to exist. Her mouth opened and she cried out her acknowledgement of the fact.

Stevie pinched Alex' clit, gaining a cry of arousal from the girl who had so willingly and literally bent to her power. It was no surprise and at the same time a delightful surprise, therefore, that Alex felt a finger enter her pussy. The warmth of the lesser extremity was such that it surpassed, not only her expectations, but her heated arousal, as well.

"Stevie..." panted Alex. "Stevie, make me come! God, I wanna come!"

Stevie laughed and gradually began to penetrate further into Alex, who moaned with an increasing pleasure she was still certain could not possibly exist in the real world. It was impossible not to arch her back, allowing the penetrating fingers to burrow deeper into her. She allowed her head to fall back, giving her, through her closed eyelids, a snapshot of the light just hours after noon, an no more than two or three hours to sunset.

A warmth flowed through her, a tingling sensation that she soon realized was orgasm. _I've never gotten off, before,_ she thought to herself. _I've never gotten off, not really. I'd always thought I had._ The feeling lasted long after she thought her body would have drained of fluids. She turned slowly on the spot to Stevie, who stood there and smiled. "How'd you like that?"

Alex answered by kneeling and unzipping Stevie's jeans...

* * *

Alex woke the next morning, still naked and lying with her arms wrapped around Stevie, who snored lightly and did not stir as she heaved herself from the bed and stood to stare out the window. The Muggles on the streets below went about their business, unaware and unconcerned that she stood there, her slightly-imperfect triangle was just as plain as the nose on her face. She turned at Stevie's touch. "Morning, babe," said Alex, her waist instinctually moving into Stevie's.

"Morning, babe," replied Stevie, bending and kissing Alex, who allowed herself to be pressed against the glass of the window.

"Oh," moaned Alex. "Aaah, God! I feel so fucking hot!"

"Watch your language," minded the talking mirror in one corner.

"Shut up," muttered Stevie, waving a hand at it and causing the bedsheet to levitate over and drape it like a curtain. "Alex... the sex last night was incredible." Stevie smiled her most mischevious smile, the dimples on her face prominent. "You sure do know how to use your hands..."

"And you know how to use your tongue..." Alex kissed Stevie.

A bright, pearl-white light blossomed from nothingness in the middle of the room, and as Alex turned to look, the Patronus spoke. "Alex, get down here, now... bring Stevie with you." Justin's voice carried only long enough for the silvery light to vanish.

Looking at Stevie, she moved and grabbed randomly at her pile of clothing...


	6. Memories

_George Weasley surfaced for air, panting. "God, Fred... you're a beast!"_

_Fred released George's dick, thus regaining the use of his mouth. "No more than you are, dear brother." Fred moved out from under his brother, breaking the sixty-nine position. "Dammit, George... you're so hot!" He kissed his brother's lips, tasting his seed. "I think..." Fred's grin widened as he played out the idea in his mind. "I think I've just had an epiphany."_

_George sat up. "What? Tell mum about us? I dunno, Fred."_

_Fred laughed and patted George's thigh. "No, not that. Not that at all." He sighed. "I was actually thinking... maybe a new line of 'toys' for our... older customers? Y'know... ejactulating strapons, vibrating wands. You know the like." He smirked as George contemplated the idea._

_"You know, I think you're right, Fred. It's about time we gave back to the overage customers. I mean, how often do you come across those, exactly? No pun intended, of course." The brothers laughed, falling into a renewed frenzy of kisses. They felt the heat from one another, and although they were sorely tempted to make love, they were too far behind in developing their new product lines to have time enough to themselves. "Fred, what if... maybe we'll start small. Tell Lee, maybe? We both know he's open. If we told him, it'll be a little easier on our conscience. We'll tell her eventually, you know."_

_Fred sat up. Propping himself on his elbows, he shook his head. "I dunno, George. I want to so much, but..." He looked up at his brother. "Wait a couple days, maybe. We could watch for the best time."_

_A knock at the door startled the twins. "I'm blasting my way in if I don't see the door opening in five seconds... four... three..."_

_Fred and George scrambled to climb into their clothing but were caught with their pants down as the door opened and Lee Jordan stood in the lintel. His eyes widened and his mouth gaped. "What the bloody...?" A look of comprehension crossed his face, and he shook his head. "I'd had my suspicions, but this... I'm not prepared for this."_

_Fred sighed. "Yeah. We figured that, Lee." He moved to retrieve his drawers when he heard Lee mutter something. "Eh?"_

_Lee looked at him, though Fred had an inkling that he was looking lower, so that his eyes lingered on his dick. "I'm gay, too."_

_"You don't say?" said George._

_"Yeah." Lee looked up at the pair of them. "I just wanted the two of you to know..." Lee's voice trailed off. "I love you. Both of you." He crossed the room and kissed George, not caring that Fred's cum now covered his face._

_Fred strode over and kissed Lee, too, fiddling with the zipper of his friend's pants. When he had those around Lee's ankles, George put a hand in the back of Lee's briefs and began tugging them down, assisted a moment later by Fred, whose hand accidentally brushed Lee's dick. "Mm... you're huge, Lee," said Fred between kisses._

_"You ain't too bad, yourself. Either of you." Lee removed his robes and shirt in kind, then lie down on top of George, facing Fred. He kissed George from behind and smiled nervously at Fred's quivering membrane. "Put yourselves in me," said Lee. "I don't care how much it hurts, just put yourselves in me." He took hold of George's cock and slid it slowly into himself, just fighting off the urge to shout; the pain was so much that it was pleasurable. "You too, Fred. Put your freckled friend in my arse!"_

_Fred smiled as he carried out Lee's request, grunting with the effort of penetrating into Lee's ass. Lee screamed, feeling his hole widening; he thought he could hear it tearing. "C'mon, boys!" said Lee. "C'mon! Fuck me! Fuck me hard!" Fred and George thrust into Lee, each stroke bringing him more pleasure and more pain mingling with the other. "God! God, fuck me so hard!" Lee's thick, throbbing dick bounced with the thrusts of the two brothers in him. His balls flopped like useless newt eyes underneath that, and he could feel himself building to an involuntary climax, so that by the time his ass had become numb with the pain of the twin cocks inside him, he spurted over his own body, the opalescent liquid landing on his torso, his neck, his face, and several inches further. He felt some land in his hair, and the final load, though slow in arriving, made a perfect touchdown in his mouth, nearly choking him in surprise._

_Shortly afterward, Fred and George came in him, both screaming at the top of their lungs._

_Although he felt severe, wonderful pain just forward of his tailbone, Lee allowed Fred to climb off of him and George to climb out of him. Deftly, he was on his knees, with Fred and George standing in front of him. Greedily, he took one twin in his hand, and the other in his mouth. His head bobbed back and forth, and he allowed his hand to caress the shaft between his fingers. He whimpered, noting the bass groans of the twins he had managed to seduce._

_"Ah, make me come, Lee!" said George, placing his hand on Lee's head and forcing his dick further into Lee's throat. Lee gagged but continued to suck his friend off. "Just make me come! That's the ticket, Babe!"_

_Lee did not care that he tasted his own ass on George's cock; all that mattered was these two wonderful friends, whom he loved more deeply than he could ever express._

_Lee allowed George's cum to hit him in the face, and when he had received a fair load in his face, he continued to jack him off, placing Fred's cock in his mouth and doing the same. "Dammit, Lee! Ah, I'm gonna come!" A wave of cum hit the back of Lee's throat, choking him. He still did not ease up, preferring instead to allow Fred to blow an enormous load in his face. Not losing any time, Lee allowed his tongue to play for a short while with Fred's balls, then moved on so that he was rimming Fred's ass._

"I love you, Fred," sniffled George, arriving back in the present and placing a handful of roses on his brother's grave. "I love you."


End file.
